Forged in Flame
by Sara Wolfe
Summary: Edmund's first five years in Narnia. Companion piece to Trial by Fire.
1. Arrival

**Author's Note: **This is the companion piece to my other Narnia fic, _Trial by Fire._ This is an AU, covering the five years Edmund spent in Narnia before his siblings arrived. If you haven't, you should probably read _Trial by Fire,_ at least the first couple of chapters, for things to make sense.

**Disclaimer: **Don't own 'em, never will. Just playing with them for a while.

**Forged In Flame**

**Chapter One: Arrival**

_"You know," Susan remarked, as she and Peter fell into step beside Edmund and Lucy, "now that we have all of this time free, you could tell us more about your time in Narnia."_

_"Oh, please, Edmund!" Lucy chimed in, eagerly. "You hardly told us anything last night."_

_"All right," Edmund agreed, easily. "So, Philip and I had just arrived in camp…"_

"What's wrong?" Edmund asked, looking around nervously.

To his surprise, the snow had all but disappeared, leaving the ground covered in lush, green grass. There were healthy, green leaves on the trees, and bright flowers dotted the ground. They'd left winter behind, and entered spring.

"Nothing is wrong," Philip said. "We've reached Aslan's camp."

Edmund's careful study of their surroundings turned from fear to amazement as he truly saw Aslan's camp for the first time. All around them were all manner of creatures, talking, laughing, and working. A pair of young Fox kits, one black and one red, scampered in front of Philip's hooves, a Cheetah in playful pursuit, his and Philip's sudden appearance barely causing a disturbance for either party.

Off in the distance, two men on horseback practiced sword fighting. Edmund thought it strange that he couldn't see their mounts' heads, but quickly passed it over as he continued to take in the sights.

"This is wonderful," he breathed, and Philip chuckled slightly.

"Yes, it is," he said, warmly, affection in his voice. "Heads up, Prince. Oreius is coming."

Edmund looked up sharply, his jaw dropping in shock at the sight that approached him. At first glance, it appeared to be a man on a horse, until it became evident that the horse and man were one.

"What is that?" he asked, his voice emerging in a fearful, and embarrassing, squeak.

"Oreius is a Centaur," Philip explained, "and the general of Aslan's army."

_'The fighting men,'_ Edmund thought, as he spared the scene a fleeting look, now understanding what he had been seeing.

"Well, what do we have here?" Oreius asked, his booming voice suddenly very painful to hear, when he compared it to Philip's quiet tones.

"Guests," Philip said, succinctly. "Edmund Pevensie, Prince of Narnia, and a Wolf."

Edmund detected a note of disgust in Philip's voice at the word Wolf, and Oreius turned expressionless eyes on him.

"He's hurt," Edmund said, weakly, as it occurred to him that his good deed might not have been such a good idea. "He needs help."

"And help he shall get," Oreius declared, after giving them both a long look, summoning another Centaur over to his side. "Take the Wolf to Shanza, for healing."

The Centaur nodded, taking the Wolf's burden as though he weighed nothing.

"As for you, Majesty," Oreius said, turning to Edmund. "I'm to bring you to Aslan."

Without warning, Oreius grabbed Edmund around the waist and lifted him to the ground easily. Edmund swallowed hard as he found himself looking up at the Centaur from the ground instead of the comforting height of Philip's back.

"This way," Oreius said, starting off without giving Edmund a chance to answer.

Edmund shot Philip a helpless look, but the stallion swung his head in the direction Oreius had gone.

"He's not as bad as he seems," Philip assured him, "just a little overwhelming. Go."

Having no other recourse, Edmund resignedly trotted after Oreius, who'd stopped in the path to wait for him.

"General Oreius, sir?" Edmund asked, as he struggled to keep up with the Centaur's much longer stride. "What's Aslan like?"

"He's a Lion," Oreius said, chuckling, a sound that surprised Edmund to no end. "What do you think he's like?"

"Terrifying," Edmund admitted, honestly.

"Well, he can be," Oreius said, "but he's nothing to be afraid of."

_'That's easy for you to say,'_ Edmund thought, eyeing Oreius's gigantic, muscular form.

"You've nothing to fear," Oreius continued. "Aslan would sooner cut off his own mane before he ever hurt a child. Especially one as special as you."

"Sir, why is that?" Edmund asked, seizing the opportunity Oreius had given him. "Philip told me about the prophecy, but Aslan can't really expect me, my brother, and my sisters to stop some evil Witch? Can he?" he pleaded.

"That's for Aslan to tell you," Oreius said, as they stopped in front of a beautifully decorated tent. "Here we are."

The next second, the biggest creature Edmund had ever seen stepped out of the tent. The Lion shook his mane, and Edmund could have sworn he smiled at him.

"Welcome, Edmund Pevensie," Aslan intoned.

"Th-thank you," Edmund stammered, unable to think of anything else to say. Aslan smiled once more.

"Walk with me," he commanded, and Edmund fell into step beside him as naturally as if he'd always done so.

"You are wondering why you are here," Aslan said, and Edmund gaped at him in astonishment.

"Truth be told," Aslan continued, before Edmund could speak, "I find myself wondering the same thing. How did you gain access to Narnia, Edmund?"

And so Edmund found himself telling Aslan all about his nighttime trip for a glass of water that had him hiding in the wardrobe to get away from the Professor's housekeeper, and how he stumbled into Narnia.

"The Professor?" Aslan asked, curiously, when he'd finished.

"Professor Kirke," Edmund answered. "He's supposed to be an old friend of our parents, but none of us have ever even seen him."

"Well," Aslan said, "I'm not sure how you are here. It certainly isn't your time to come."

"Maybe it is," Edmund ventured. "How could I have gotten here, otherwise?"

Aslan stared at him for a long moment, before laughing, a great booming sound that startled Edmund back several paces.

"Very clever," he said. "Very well argued, young Prince."

Edmund took those words as an opportunity, and brought up something that had been bothering him for the past several hours.

"Aslan," he ventured, "Why did you call me Prince?"

"Did Philip not tell you about the prophecy?" Aslan asked.

"Well, yes," Edmund said, "but I didn't really understand it."

"In order to truly defeat the White Witch," Aslan told him, "you and your siblings must become Kings and Queens of Narnia, on the thrones of Cair Paravel."

"King?" Edmund whispered, dazzled at the sudden thought. And then he was hit by the mention his brother and sisters.

"Is something wrong?" Aslan asked, noticing Edmund's expression darken considerably.

"It's just," Edmund ventured, hesitantly, "all my life I've had to share with someone. And this is just another thing I have to share. I just wish I had something for myself, for once."

"A perfectly normal feeling," Aslan said, rather than delivering the lecture on selfishness that Edmund had been expecting. "But, Edmund, you must not let such feelings dictate your behavior. The kindest hearts are those who consider others before themselves."

Edmund nodded slowly. "Where's the Wolf?" he asked, changing the subject.

"He is with Shanza, our Healer," Aslan said.

"Can I see him?" Edmund asked, suddenly desperate for anything even remotely familiar.

"Of course," Aslan said, turning around. "This way."

He led the way to a smaller tent not too far from his own, and a guard at the entrance snapped to attention upon seeing them. At Aslan's gesture, he drew back the flap, allowing Edmund to duck inside. He blinked slowly to adjust to the tent's darkness, and then saw a small, graceful tree-woman bending over a mass of fur.

Hearing his footsteps, the Wolf lifted his head and fixed him with an unblinking gaze. Unafraid, Edmund moved further into the tent. Up close, he saw that the Wolf was barely half grown and clearly starving, his ribs showing painfully even through the thick fur that covered his body. The blood was gone from his coat, but the wounds that marked him were ugly and vicious, making Edmund wince in sympathy.

"You," the Wolf rasped, never looking away from him. "You're the one who rescued me. Why?"

Edmund shrugged helplessly. "I really don't know," he admitted. "But I just couldn't leave you lying there."

"Thank you," the Wolf said. "I owe you my life."

"No, I didn't-" Edmund sputtered. _'I didn't really save him just so that he would feel grateful to me, did I?'_ he thought, distressed at the very thought.

"Who did this to you?" he asked, changing the subject to something less uncomfortable.

"Maugrim did," the Wolf replied, looking disgusted. "It's my brother's way of keeping weaklings from entering the service of his beloved Queen."

"Your own brother attacked you?" Edmund asked, astonished.

"Yes," the Wolf said. "And, if they find that I have survived, I will be judged worthy of entering her service."

"You see, Sire?" an angry voice demanded, startling the tent's occupants. "The Wolf will return to his own kind and tell the Witch everything. I say we kill him now, before he gets the chance!"

"No!" Edmund cried, drawing all attention to himself. He stormed outside the tent, to confront Aslan and Oreius. "Aslan, you can't kill him."

"Did you not hear him, Majesty?" Oreius demanded. "He means to return to the Witch!"

"Only as a spy in service of those who cared enough to save my life," the Wolf rasped, as he limped out of the tent. He shot Oreius a dark look as he stood protectively beside Edmund.

"Your name, Wolf?" Aslan asked.

"Bertran," the Wolf replied.

"Edmund," Aslan continued, startling him, "do you take Bertran into your service?"

"Me?" Edmund gasped.

"You did save his life," Aslan said, restating Bertran's earlier words.

"Um, okay," Edmund said, feeling slightly ridiculous.

"I give you my vow, Highness," Bertran said, solemnly, "I will serve you, and no other, until my death."

"You understand," Aslan said, saving Edmund from having to try and think of a reply, "the price if the Witch finds out of her betrayal to you?"

"I cannot betray her if I never served her in the first place," Bertran said, simply.

"Then, go," Aslan said. Bertran looked up at Edmund, who nodded hesitantly, before he trotted off through the camp, towards the woods.

Edmund watched Bertran disappear into the woods, fighting back the urge to call the Wolf back to the camp, where he would be safe.

_'This is Bertran's choice,'_ he reminded himself. _'He knows the danger he's facing. Aslan warned him of what could happen.'_

"If you will go with Oreius," Aslan said, breaking into his thoughts, "he will start your training."

"My training?" Edmund echoed, looking over at the Lion in amazement. "Do you mean that I'm staying?"

"Only until it is time to retrieve your siblings," Aslan told him.

Turning, he walked away toward his pavilion, leaving Edmund standing alone with Oreius.

"Are you ready, Majesty?" the Centaur asked.

Edmund looked out at the camp, at the creatures depending on him to help save their land and their lives. Rather than feel scared, like he expected, he felt filled with a sense of purpose. For the first time in his life, he felt like he belonged.

"Yes," he said, softly, "I'm ready."

"We will begin with a tour of the camp," Oreius told him. "You cannot expect to command your subjects if you do not know them."

He led Edmund away from the Healer's tent, down to the main part of camp where the rest of the tents were set up.

"We number two hundred, at the moment," Oreius said. "Only three-quarters of that number are active fighters. And now you, of course."

"I can't fight," Edmund protested, immediately.

"You will," Oreius reassured him. "Philip told me about your flight away from the White Witch; I believe you have the skill to become quite a capable warrior."

Edmund wasn't so sure about that, but he kept his doubts to himself as Oreius led him up to a group of Creatures sitting around a fire.

"Good evening, Hyruil," Oreius greeted one of the Creatures, a Leopard who stood, gracefully, to meet them. "Kesi, Paan."

One of the Leopard's companions, a gray-furred Hyena returned Oreius's greeting with a quick nod. The other, a Cheetah, yawned slowly, showing an impressive set of teeth.

"May I introduce Edmund Pevensie, Prince of Narnia?" Oreius continued, and Edmund suddenly found himself the sole focus of their attention.

"This is an honor, Your Highness," the Hyena gasped, jumping to his feet and bending into a low bow. "I am Kesi, Highness, and I-"

"Oh, do be quiet," the Cheetah interrupted, reaching out with a paw and swatting the Hyena to the ground. "I'm sure the Prince has better things to do than to listen to you prattle on."

"Just because you aren't-" Kesi began, hotly, and Paan rose, slowly, to the implied challenge in the Hyena's voice.

"Enough," Hyruil growled, a dangerous rumble in his voice. "Forgive them," he added, turning to Edmund. "They've been fighting like this for days. They're getting impossible to be around."

"You both could meet me on the training field, tomorrow morning," Oreius suggested, and his mild tone stopped the argument in its tracks as both Creatures hastily assured Oreius that it wouldn't be necessary.

The argument, while it lasted, had drawn the attention of the Creatures, nearby, and one by one, they'd started over when they saw Edmund. He very quickly found himself surrounded by a crowd of curious Beasts, all clamoring for his attention. Edmund shifted, uneasily, as the crowd closed in on him, and only Oreius's heavy hand on his shoulder kept him from bolting in a panic.

"Be at ease," the Centaur said, in a low voice. "They only wish to see you."

"There are so many of them," Edmund whispered back, trying to quell the claustrophobic feeling that sprang up suddenly.

But, he tried to dutifully listen to the voices that clamored around him, trying to pick out names and match them to faces. A task he was sure he failed at fairly miserably. Mostly, he just let the voices wash over him, trying to absorb as much of the camp as he could.

Finally, Oreius made his excuses and led him away from the crowd. Edmund breathed a sigh of relief, able to relax now that he wasn't under the close scrutiny of dozens of eyes.

"You don't need to be afraid of them," Oreius spoke up, and Edmund looked at him in disbelief.

"You and Aslan kept talking about how I'm supposed to be some savior, and defeat the White Witch," he said, incredulously. "What if I can't, what if I let them down?"

"First," Oreius reminded him, "you will not be alone in the battle against the Witch. Your brother and sisters will be with you."

"I'd feel better if they were here, now," Edmund muttered, shocked to realize that he meant the sentiment.

He would have given anything to have Peter, Susan, and Lucy there with him. Anything familiar, really. He would have even been happy to see Philip, right then.

"Second," Oreius went on, "you will not let anyone down. It may not seem like it, but your just being here is enough to give them hope."

The Centaur kept talking, and Edmund tried hard to pay attention, even though he was starting to get tired. When he started yawning, Oreius broke off his recitation to steer Edmund back the way they'd come. Arriving at a bright red tent, Oreius held open the heavy flap and gestured for Edmund to enter.

Stepping inside, it took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. When they did, he could see a soft-looking nest of blankets in a corner of the tent. At the sight, a wave of exhaustion swamped him, almost knocking him off his feet.

"You'll sleep here, tonight," Oreius told him. "Get some rest, Prince. We'll talk more in the morning."

The Centaur stepped back, letting the tent flap fall shut behind him and shrouding the tent in near-complete darkness. Edmund stared at the tent flap, a million questions still crowding his mind. He wanted to go after Oreius and learn everything there was to know about Narnia, but he was suddenly so tired that he could even think about moving.

Finally, he decided that the morning would be soon enough for any further questions, and staggering over to the nest of blankets, he dropped down onto the makeshift bed, kicking off his boots and dragging the top blanket over his head. Then, closing his eyes, he fell promptly asleep.


	2. Learning Curve

**Author's Note: **Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed.

**Chapter Two: Learning Curve**

"Rise and shine, your Majesty!"

Edmund groaned and burrowed deeper under his warm blankets, swatting irritably at Peter's hand when his brother continued to shake his shoulder.

"Wake up, young Prince," Peter continued in a sing-song voice, but Edmund resolutely ignored him.

He pulled his pillow firmly over his head, his hands settling over his ears. He didn't know what game his brother was playing, but he wished he'd give over and leave him alone.

"Majesty," Peter continued, persistently, and Edmund groaned, again, as he could no longer ignore his brother.

"Peter, it's too early in the morning for this-" he protested, as he sat up in bed, and then he stared in shock at the man who had his head poked into the small tent Edmund was sleeping in.

"You're not Peter," was all he could think to say, and the man smiled at him.

"No, Majesty, I'm not," he said. "And now, it is time we were going."

"Can't I get dressed, first?" Edmund protested, automatically, even as he struggled to process what exactly was happening.

He looked around at the tent he was in, unable to hide his shock. What the bloody hell was he doing in a tent? And where was the rest of his family?

"What you're wearing will suffice for what I have in mind," the man told him, cheerfully, reaching out and whisking the blanket away from Edmund's legs when he didn't move fast enough.

"But," Edmund sputtered, but the man wouldn't let him finish.

"You will need these, however," the man continued, dropping a pair of boots on the ground beside Edmund's bed. "Those other boots that you were wearing aren't fit to do any sort of fighting in."

"Fighting what?" Edmund demanded, but the man had withdrawn once he saw that Edmund was fully awake, and Edmund had no choice but to shove his feet into the boots and scramble out of the tent after the man, if he wanted answers.

Besides, he had no doubt the strange man would come back and be even more persistent if he thought Edmund had fallen asleep, again.

Edmund made it two steps outside his tent before he stopped, frozen by what he saw before him. He wasn't in England, and certainly nowhere on Professor Kirke's property. And the man who'd woken him wasn't a man at all. He was…

"Good morning, Majesty," the Centaur greeted him, with a smile on his face. "I trust you slept well?"

"Yes," Edmund breathed, looking around him in shock and amazement, as all his memories of the previous day came flooding back in a rush. "I-"

"Good," the Centaur interrupted him. "Now, on to our training."

"What training?" Edmund asked, suspiciously, tearing his eyes away from the amazing sights of Aslan's camp to stare at the Centaur.

"General Orieus has appointed me your tutor of un-bladed combat," the Centaur informed him. "We will begin at this time every morning, and I'm sure you will soon become accustomed to waking at such a late hour."

"This isn't late!" Edmund protested, but the Centaur didn't let him continue, just set a hand firmly between the boy's shoulder blades and pushed him along to wherever their destination was.

"Where are we going?" Edmund demanded, as the Centaur continued to guide him further and further away from the activity of the camp.

"You'll see," the Centaur said, mysteriously, and Edmund gritted his teeth in frustration.

"If I'm going to be a king, aren't you supposed to be nicer to me?" Edmund grumbled, under his breath, but he evidently hadn't been as quiet as he'd hoped, because the Centaur stopped in the middle of the path, meeting Edmund squarely in the eye.

"Respect is earned, young Prince," he said, sternly, and Edmund found himself squirming under so direct a gaze. "Even for one such as yourself."

"Sorry," Edmund muttered, feeling an embarrassed flush creeping up his neck.

"Easily forgiven," the Centaur told him. "And, I suspect you'll have stronger things to say to me when we are finished with our training."

At that, the Centaur continued trotting through the camp, and Edmund had to break into a brisk jog in order to catch up. He and the Centaur wound their way among the tents, going further and further away from the middle of camp. Soon, Edmund could see the ocean in the distance, and he realized that they were up on top of cliffs that overlooked the water. He stopped beside the Centaur, staring out at the view in amazement.

"This is beautiful," he said, wonderingly, and the Centaur chuckled, quietly.

"It is that," he agreed. Then, he continued, briskly, "And now, we begin your training."

The Centaur snagged a pair of thick, sturdy sticks from the ground, and as he hesitantly took one, Edmund realized that he was holding a fighting staff. There were strips of leather wound around sections of the staff, and the ends were tightly wrapped with more leather.

"Grip the sections near the middle," the Centaur told him, taking his hands and positioning them on the staff. "Stand with your feet shoulder-width apart, and hold the staff out in front of you, across your body."

"Wait," Edmund said, panicked, as the Centaur moved into a similar position across from him. "I don't – who are you?"

"I am Khyldaer, Prince," the Centaur told him. "Now, block."

He swung his own staff down toward Edmund, slowly, and Edmund scrambled backward to avoid the inevitable blow, raising his own staff in instinctive defense. The impact of wood on wood jolted through him, the loud thwack making his ears ring. Without pause, Khyldaer swung, again, this time clipping Edmund's fingers and pinching them between the staves.

"Ow!" he yelped, dropping the staff as he shook his hands in a reaction to the stinging pain.

"You should never drop a weapon like that," Khyldaer scolded him, sternly. "In a fight, losing your weapon could mean the difference between life and death."

"But, I'm not in a life or death situation," Edmund retorted, scowling as he bent and scooped the staff off the ground.

"When we train, every session should be treated as such," Khyldaer told him. "Now, block."

Edmund put his staff back up into what he thought was the correct position, only to have Khyldaer sigh in frustration and reposition his hands on the wood.

"Your hands go here," he said, shortly, and then he stepped back and swung his staff at Edmund, again.

Edmund swung his staff up to meet Khyldaer's blow, gritting his teeth as he was rattled by the force of the impact. Khyldaer swung again, and again, forcing Edmund to block each of his blows, keeping up a steady pace of attack and defend. Khyldaer moved with each strike, and Edmund found himself being run all over the ground, almost like he was dancing.

Edmund glared at Khyldaer as he blocked yet another blow, hanging on to his staff, grimly, even when his fingers were pinched, again. His hands hurt from gripping the staff so tightly, and his arms and shoulders hurt from absorbing the impact of the blows. Everything hurt, actually. He was starting to grow tired of it.

Suddenly, he stumbled over a rough patch of ground, hitting the ground hard, the wind knocked out of him. Closing his eyes as a sudden pain spiked through his body, Edmund made a fervent wish to be anywhere but where he was. Anywhere that the obviously-sadistic Centaur wasn't going to hit him with any more sticks.

He lay there, gasping for breath, and when he opened his eyes, he saw Khyldaer standing over him, looking down at him with an impassive look on his face.

"Are you going to get up?" Khyldaer asked, that damned staff still held in his hands.

"No," Edmund snapped, shortly, throwing an arm over his eyes to block out the sunlight.

"Excuse me?" Khyldaer asked, softly.

"I'm tired, I hurt, and I'm not doing this any more," Edmund replied, recklessly. "It's stupid."

There was silence after his words, and Edmund was starting to wonder if he'd pushed the Centaur too far. Moving his arm, he found Khyldaer still staring down at him.

"Perhaps I should rephrase my statement," Khyldaer said, in a calm, controlled voice. "You will stand up, and we will continue training."

_'Or what?'_ Edmund thought, snidely, but, for once, discretion reigned, and he thought it better not to voice the question out loud.

Instead, he dragged himself to his feet, grabbing his staff from where it had fallen and taking up a defensive position, again. This time, Khyldaer didn't correct his hand position, or his stance, even though Edmund knew he was doing it wrong. Instead, the Centaur swung at him, almost too fast for Edmund to block.

He'd barely met the blow when Khyldaer was striking at him, again, and the edge of the staff caught him sharply on the shoulder. Hissing in pain, Edmund swung his own staff out, blindly, feeling a dull thud reverberate through his arms as he hit the Centaur in the chest. Then, something hit him from behind, sweeping his legs out from underneath him and dumping him unceremoniously on the ground.

"What in Aslan's name do you think you're doing!"

Edmund looked over, startled, at the sound of the bellow, watching as an enraged Centaur descended on them. For a moment, he thought the Centaur was coming for him, but then Khyldaer started backing away, and Edmund realized that he wasn't the one facing the other Centaur's wrath. The Centaur stopped beside them as Edmund slowly stood up, and her eyes were blazing with fury.

"Give. Me. That," she snapped, each word clipped and precise as she spoke.

She snatched the staff out of Khyldaer's hands when he didn't move fast enough, glaring at the other Centaur until he was practically cowering beneath her gaze.

"How dare you?" she gritted out, clearly furious. "How dare you beat on a child like this? He's no trained warrior; what were you thinking?"

"Child?" Khyldaer echoed, stunned, as he looked over at Edmund in shock. A horrified look spread across his face. "He's a child?"

"No more than a colt," the Centaur confirmed, coldly.

"I –" Khyldaer stammered. "Majesty, I'm sorry."

Whirling, he galloped away without another word, his rapid hoof beats fading in the distance. Edmund felt childishly pleased at seeing Khyldaer run away, with the other Centaur on his side, but he also couldn't forget the horrified look on Khyldaer's face.

"Majesty, I am sorry for Khyldaer's behavior," the other Centaur said, and Edmund looked up at her. "I will be speaking with him later, to ensure that he truly understands what could have happened here."

"Is he really going to listen to you?" Edmund asked, wondering if the stubborn Centaur would listen to anyone.

"He had better," the Centaur said. At Edmund's curious look, she elaborated, "He's my younger brother."

"I thought you seemed a lot like my older sister, Susan," Edmund said, his tone bordering on cheeky, and the Centaur smiled.

"We older sisters have to be hard on our younger brothers," she said, teasingly, and Edmund found himself returning her smile. "I am Khyllian," she continued. "Are you hurt?"

"Just sore," Edmund told her, rolling his shoulders gingerly to test them.

"You are not injured?" Khyllian pressed, and Edmund shook his head in reply. "Then, we will continue the rest of your training."

"Continue?" Edmund repeated, his voice coming out in an embarrassing squeak. "Haven't I trained enough for one morning?"

"You do not wish to learn how to fight?" Khyllian asked, confusion wrinkling her forehead.

"I don't see why I should," Edmund protested. "Don't Kings have people to fight for them? That's the way it is in all the stories."

"Stories do not always reflect reality," Khyllian told him. "Now, if you are ready?"

Edmund sighed in frustration, but picked the staff up, again, taking up a defensive position.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Edmund winced as he limped back into camp, at Khyllian's side. The Centaur had surprised him; he'd expected his training session to be like his one with Khyldaer, but Khyllian had taken him through the very basic steps of staff fighting. They'd eventually moved up to trading strikes and blocks, and while he hadn't managed to hit Khyllian once, at least he hadn't gotten his fingers smacked, either.

Finally, Khyllian had called a halt to the training for the morning, deciding that they both needed breakfast. Leaning on his staff like it was a walking stick, Edmund followed her as she wound her way to a tent near the center of the camp. Opening the flap, she stuck her head inside and spoke quietly to whoever was inside the tent. A few moments later, a short, bearded man poked his head outside the tent, looking Edmund up and down, critically.

"Not going to eat much, is he?" he grunted, before disappearing.

"And a good morning to you, too, Rendik," Khyllian sighed, shaking her head as she went back to where Edmund was waiting. "Dwarves are not cheerful in the mornings," she told Edmund.

"Neither am I," he confided, and Khyllian smiled.

"Then you and Rendik should get along, wonderfully," she told him.

A few moments later, the Dwarf popped out of the tent, carrying a plate of food. Edmund practically salivated at the smell of sausage wafting from the plate, and he was embarrassed to hear his stomach growling with hunger.

He snatched a sausage roll off the plate, juggling the still-hot hunk of bread in his hands before biting into it. It was as delicious as it smelled, and he found himself finishing it, quickly.

"Khyllian?" he asked, a few minutes later, while the Centaur was still finishing her own breakfast. "Why did Khyldaer come at me like he did, this morning? Did I do something to make him angry?"

Khyllian was silent for several long moments, considering her answer. Finally, she sighed, heavily.

"It is nothing you did," she told him. "It is Khyldaer's own fears and insecurities that made him act like he did."

"What do you mean?" Edmund asked, confused.

"You are the first real hope we have had in Narnia since the beginning of the Endless Winter," Khyllian told him. "For the first time in years, there is an end in sight."

"I'm not sure that I feel comfortable being someone's savior," Edmund admitted, hesitantly.

"Nonetheless," Khyllian said, "that is how many see you. Khyldaer is one of them, and he becomes flustered when he is overwhelmed."

"He didn't seem flustered," Edmund muttered, even as he marveled at the idea that he unsettled the Centaur.

"He is also anxious," Khyllian explained, "as Oreius has entrusted some of your training to him. He does not want to shake the trust that Oreius has placed in him, just as he does not want to leave you undefended. He is afraid that if he slacks in even a small part of your training, you will not be able to survive a confrontation with the Witch."

"Well, I'm certainly not going to go seeking her out," Edmund protested, and Khyllian smiled.

"Something that my brother has undoubtedly figured out for himself, by now," she assured him. "He will probably seek you out on his own, to apologize, before either Oreius or I have the chance to speak to him."

"And I think that I owe Khyldaer an apology, as well," Edmund admitted, quietly. "I wasn't being very cooperative, this morning. I didn't understand what he was trying to teach me, and I think I may have made things worse."

"Perhaps this morning will prove to have been a learning experience for you both, then," Khyllian said.

"Maybe," Edmund agreed. "Do you know where I might be able to find Khyldaer?"

"By now," Khyllian said, "he is probably at the main training field, with Oreius. Why are you looking for him?"

"If I'm going to eat crow," Edmund said, sheepishly, "then I'd rather do it while I'm still hungry."

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

After nearly fifteen minutes of wandering, and turning down countless offers to show him around, Edmund finally found the training field that Khyllian had directed him to. He could hear the clashing of metal on metal before he saw Oreius and Khyldaer, and when he reached the grassy area, he found the Centaurs wielding the largest swords he'd ever seen.

They were moving in an intricate pattern as they fought, their swords moving almost too fast to be seen. Sunlight glinted off the brightly-polished metal as the swords flashed through the air, and Edmund watched the deadly-graceful dance in amazement.

When their sparring ended, both combatants breathing heavily from the exertion, Edmund cautiously approached them. Oreius noticed him, first, acknowledging him with a brief nod. Khyldaer, still recovering his breath, didn't see Edmund until he'd stopped beside the pair, and then his eyes widened, comically, and he backed away from Edmund with slow, careful steps.

"I wondered if I could talk to you, Khyldaer," Edmund said, getting right to the point, and the Centaur nodded, reluctantly.

"Of course, Majesty," he said, quietly. "General, if you will excuse us?"

He wasn't looking at either Edmund or Oreius, and the older Centaur left the field with a knowing expression on his face. Edmund and Khyldaer stood in silence for several long minutes, Khyldaer looking anywhere but in Edmund's direction. Finally, Edmund couldn't stand it anymore, and he had to break the silence.

"I wanted to apologize for how I acted, earlier," he said, wanting to get the hard part out of the way as soon as possible. "I wasn't listening to you, and I made things harder than they should have been."

"I also owe you an apology," Khyldaer said, quietly, shame in his voice. "I was not acting as a teacher should, this morning. Instead, I treated you like a warrior with weapons training, and for that, I apologize."

"Why did you think that I was trained to fight?" Edmund asked, genuinely confused.

"I have never seen a human," Khyldaer told him. "I have heard of the prophecy, of course, but I did not expect it to be fulfilled by children. And you do not look like any child I have seen, except for our own, and at your age, they would be still protected by their family."

"My mum tried to protect us," Edmund told him. "Back in England, we're at war, and that's why Mum sent us to the Professor's house, where we'd be safe."

As he was talking to Khyldaer, he didn't feel like he was just parroting his older siblings with his words. For the first time, he realized that his mother really was trying to protect him, the only way she could.

"I don't think she expected us to get involved in another war," he finished, quietly.

"No parent ever wants to see their child go to war," Khyldaer said. After a few moments of silence, he continued, "I have spoken to Oreius about appointing you another teacher."

"No!" Edmund said, quickly, surprising even himself with his outburst. "I think I could learn a lot from you, and now that we understand each other-"

"Shall we call a truce, then?" Khyldaer asked.

"Make it pax," Edmund agreed, holding out a hand for Khyldaer to shake.

Khyldaer studied his proffered hand, curiously, and then grasped it in his own. Edmund pumped their hands, once, firmly, much to the Centaur's amusement.

"What was that ritual?" he asked, after Edmund had released his hand.

"It's called a handshake," Edmund told him. "We do it to seal pacts."

"Interesting," Khyldaer said. "So, Majesty, shall we take up our training, again?"

"Only if you call me Edmund," he replied. "I don't feel comfortable with everyone calling me Majesty all the time."

"Very well, Edmund," Khyldaer agreed. "This time, I promise to be a teacher."

"And I promise that I'm going to listen," Edmund told him. Grinning, he added, "I'll even try to learn something."

"If you don't," Khyldaer told him, somberly, "the General is sure to pound his lessons into both of our thick skulls."

Edmund laughed, following Khyldaer as he went to the armory tent to collect their fighting staves, again. They went back to the same spot they'd been in, earlier that morning, and Edmund took up his position across from Khyldaer.

"Low block," Khyldaer instructed, after checking his hand position, and then he moved his staff in a slow arc toward Edmund.

Edmund stepped back as he brought his own staff up, feeling the solid impact reverberate through his arms. Khyldaer swept his staff around in a side strike, moving slowly enough that Edmund was able to block him, again. Slowly, they began to move through the steps of the sparring dance, Edmund focused on everything that Khyldaer was teaching him.

Finally, Khyldaer called a halt to the sparring session, and Edmund was startled to hear the sound of clapping. He looked over to see Khyllian and Oreius watching them. There was a proud look on Khyllian's face, and Oreius looked satisfied.

"Well done, both of you," he said, before turning and walking away.

"Good job, little brother," Khyllian said, coming over and clapping Khyldaer on the shoulder. "And you, Majesty."

"Thanks," Edmund said, sheepishly. "I had a good teacher."

"And, I, a good student," Khyldaer said, making him blush. "But, we'll see if you say the same thing, tomorrow morning."

"Do we have to start so early?" Edmund protested, automatically, earning a chuckle from Khyldaer.

"Hardly early," he retorted, and Edmund groaned.

"The sun isn't even up," he insisted.

"That is the best time to practice," Khyldaer told him.

Before Edmund could say anything in response, Khyllian put a stop to their budding argument by whapping both of them lightly on the back of the head.

"Enough, both of you," she scolded. "You are acting like children."

"No," Khyldaer corrected her, sharing a look with Edmund. "We're warriors."


End file.
